


Anatomy of a Revolution

by Linderosse



Category: Gintama
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, POV Second Person, Yet another Joui War fic because I can't get enough of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:40:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29948733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linderosse/pseuds/Linderosse
Summary: You join the rebellion in its dusk, reaching for the last slivers of light from the sunset of an era. It's not so strange, really, when you think about it. You've always been something of a shadow.In which I use Kurokono Tasuke to write about the Joui 4.
Relationships: Katsura Kotarou & Sakamoto Tatsuma & Sakata Gintoki & Takasugi Shinsuke, Kurokono Tasuke & the Joui4
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	Anatomy of a Revolution

You join the rebellion in its dusk. It's a desperate fight; but it's one worth fighting, and the four generals of the war keep an eye on the horizon as if they can drag it down with sheer willpower. You follow them willingly. After all, you've always been something of a shadow.

It’s Katsura Kotaro who first turns that trait of yours into a talent. You appreciate that more than you let him know.

He’s sitting by a tree outside, poring over a map, when you tap him on the shoulder. He startles.

“Whoa! Oh, Kurokono, it’s just you. Is dinner ready?”

“Yes. Sorry for startling you, Katsura-san.”

“No, it’s my fault for not noticing.” He rolls up the map, then stops to consider something. “You know, you’re quite good at that; at going unnoticed. Have you considered a career in espionage?”

This is how you end up scouting the enemy, delivering information on their placements and plans back to the grunge-infested headquarters of the rebellion.

You are remarkably good at this. After another job well done, you start receiving invitations to the commanders’ tent to present your findings in person. At first, the invitations are rare, and you are simply grateful to be needed. Soon enough, though, you become a regular at these strategy meetings. You begin to learn more about the four strange men who, together, drag this rebellion forward step by painful step. They're a crazy lot; bursting to the seams with energy in one form or the other. You begin to appreciate their company.

During one of these meetings, you realize that Katsura Kotaro, resident airhead, is somehow also the brain of the army. No one contests his intelligence. Indeed, on the rare occasions when Katsura is being serious, no one seems to even question what Katsura declares as a plan. The Young Nobleman of Madness’s combat prowess is great, but his strategic advancements are truly sublime.

You detail how you tracked the enemy two days ago and found them camped out near the ravine to the north.

“They’ll take the pass west,” says Takasugi, standing at the edge of the enclosure, by one of the four muddy cloth screens that serve as makeshift walls. “We should circle around the forest and strike from the cover of the trees as we move north.”

Sakamoto throws back his head and laughs. “Ahahaha! What a delightful trek that will be, pulling all our supply carts through miles of forest. Yup! Totally doable.”

Takasugi narrows his eyes. “Was that sarcasm?”

“Not at all! Ahaha, Takasugi, does that mean you realize you’re an idiot and you're doubting your own words— Ahah, don’t kill me; Kintoki, help!”

The Shiroyasha is by all appearances napping in the corner of the room. Sakamoto’s protests go entirely ignored.

Katsura, in a trance-like silence, simply stares at the map for a full minute, even after Takasugi and Sakamoto calm down. His gaze is intense. You don’t know what’s different about it than when you normally see him, but it’s like he’s larger than life, the gears in his mind whirring at speeds beyond your imagination.

The others wait without disturbing him. This is, you learn later, a normal occurrence in the command tent. All listen when he finally speaks.

“They’ll expect us to take the forest route and press north with our gear after engaging to get to safer ground. So we won’t do that. We’ll leave the supply carts here under Sakamoto’s unit. Gintoki and I will take the forest route unencumbered. Takasugi, you lead the Kihetai below the ravine and climb up to attack from the side. Return here once the enemy is routed.”

“A pincer move, huh,” The Shiroyasha awakens with a yawn— or has he been awake the whole time? “Sounds fun.”

Katsura’s intense gaze breaks. He smiles at the Shiroyasha, and it seems… fond? Like they’re only discussing whether to get a sandwich or a nmaibo stick from the convenience store.

“Then I’ll expect you in top shape when the attack begins tomorrow morning.”

A cry of outrage from Sakamoto and the Shiroyasha. “Tomorrow!? Zura, we were gonna go out drinking tonight!”

“It’s not Zura, it’s Katsura. You can stand one night sober. Now that Kurokono has reported in, we have to make use of this information. Strike while the iron is hot, so to speak.”

Sakamoto quirks his head. “Kurokono? Who’s that?”

Katsura gestures at you, and though Shiroyasha doesn’t seem surprised, the other two do a double take. You wave, a little anxious, but they don’t look antagonistic, just impressed.

“Ahahaha! Where’d he come from?”

“Holy shit. Has he considered being a spy?”

“He _is_ a spy,” Katsura points out. “That’s why he was assigned to scout the enemy yesterday. He even _just_ reported it to us, and you’ve already forgotten he was here. Isn’t he great?”

You’re thankful for the compliment. Takasugi hasn’t stopped frowning and Sakamoto just looks confused.

“Eh, whatever,” says the Shiroyasha, scratching his nose. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Katsura sighs and turns to you. “You see what I have to deal with?”

You sympathize with Katsura Kotaro.

Still, the man takes his duty as the army’s tactician seriously, and when the plan is executed the next day, all goes without a hitch. Minimal losses, and the rebellion returns victorious. For once, there’s joy in the Joui camp.

That night, when the generals get plastered together by the fire, you're invited to join. You're the hero of this battle, Katsura tells you repeatedly, between the enthusiastic drunken lectures he's inflicting upon the Shiroyasha, who tries valiantly to shut Katsura up while discreetly making sure the man doesn't knock himself out. Takasugi only gets more and more silent as he sinks in his cups, scowl growing more pronounced. Sakamoto, who provided the alcohol, groans at the losses he's incurring but manages to chug more than the rest of them when Takasugi slams his cup down and challenges the others to a contest.

You decline more than a few sips, knowing your limit, but the others don't hold it against you; even pull you into conversations when it's relevant. By the end of the night, you think you might possibly be their friend.

* * *

Sakamoto Tatsuma leaves often. No one seems to know where exactly he goes, but when he returns, it is with supplies and swords and sustenance. Sakamoto Tatsuma always leaves as a beggar and returns as a king.

“Medical supplies! Our benefactors to the east have been kind, ahahaha!”

The Shiroyasha runs to the wagon and starts stuffing rolls of bandages and bottles of antiseptic into his darkly-stained white overrobe. “You’re a fucking magician, Sakamoto. Get us more.” He then sprints back up the hill they’re camped on, making his way to the medical tent at the top.

Others nearby who are less wounded after the recent battle help as well, transferring whatever they can from Sakamoto’s wagon to the tent up the hill where those less fortunate lie moaning in agony. You join the sequence of soldiers climbing the hill and running back down, and on your fourth trip, Sakamoto stops you.

“Ah, Kurokono!”

You turn. Wow, he noticed you.

“Would you like to join me, next time? I’d appreciate someone who could listen to my contacts’ reactions after I leave and tell me what makes them tick.”

Why not? You can do that. “Sure, Sakamoto-san. I’ll let Katsura-san know.”

Sakamoto grins. “Brilliant! Ahahaha, you’re the best, Kurokono!”

Sakamoto is the army’s voice.

You feel it in your bones when you listen to him stand in the richest mansion of the eastern town, where the very air is perfume-scented. He is wearing his battered and bloody robes, and yet somehow his speech turns the war from a desperate struggle into a legend in the making. With carefully cultivated rhetoric, he proclaims that the fruits of the war are near at hand; declares the Amanto invaders to be not only unjust but also detrimental to Earth’s businesses. In the same breath, he gestures to the cartload of Amanto trinkets they’ve scavenged from battles and offers it all up for trade, asks in return only food, cloth, other supplies, and whatever weapons can be spared.

He leaves and you stay behind long enough to see that his suggestions were indeed received positively, as he’d hoped they be. You report this to him and he smiles as usual, but sorrow laces the turn of his lips.

“I don’t believe most of it, you know,” he says to you. “If this war would end, if we could have peace, then I’d trade with the Amanto. Some may hate us, but others wouldn’t. We could change their minds, one at a time. We could coexist. If only anyone knew how, or was willing to try.”

This strikes a chord in you. Perhaps it’s even true. You nod.

He looks to the stars and sighs. “I don’t know if I want to stay here too much longer. It’s like the stars are pulling me up towards them. If I don’t let go of the ground, I’ll be torn apart.”

In this too, he is the army’s voice. Only a select few are immune to the call of home, of comfort, of a different, safer, kind of adventure.

* * *

Takasugi Shinsuke is harder to pin down. You never see him smile. You get the feeling, as he plunges his blade into an Amanto infantryman’s gut, that he takes this whole war personally. Then again, when the Shiroyasha accidentally knocks Takasugi into a puddle the next day, Takasugi seems to take that personally too. So maybe that’s just how he is.

Still though, it’s strange how... focused he is. When you bring this observation to the rest of the generals, Katsura looks sorrowful and the Shiroyasha’s face goes blank, and Sakamoto treats both of them to a knowing glance.

It’s Sakamoto who ends up breaking the silence. He jerks a thumb at the others in the tent.

“These two and Takasugi are old classmates and childhood friends; isn’t that cool? Ahahaha, I wish I had childhood friends to keep me company! Will you be my childhood friend too, Zura? Kintoki?”

“It’s not Zura, it’s Katsura. And that's not how childhood friends work. You have to have been a friend since you were children. Obviously.”

"We're still children at heart!"

" _You're_ still a child, yeah. I’ll consider it if you can get my name right.”

“Sure, Kintoki!”

“Gintoki, you’re such a hypocrite.”

"Shut up, Zura."

"Not Zura; Katsura!"

You stay silent, still confused, because that doesn’t explain why Takasugi takes the war personally. Sakamoto gives the others a pointed look, like he’s leaving the rest for the other two to explain. But the Shiroyasha’s face is still blank, and he makes no move to speak. Katsura isn’t looking at you when he eventually talks, his voice soft in the evening, nearly drowned out by the crackling fire you’re all crouched around that douses his long, black hair with slivers of orange light.

“Our teacher was taken from us. We’re here, in part, to rescue him.”

Ah. Interesting. You think about this, and what it means, and you’re curious enough that you have to ask.

“Who was he?”

Katsura smiles. “He was—”

“What are you talking about.” It’s Takasugi. He takes a seat by the fire with today’s dinner— unidentifiable meat atop a bowl of gruel— and spoons it into his mouth with nearly the same ferocity he’d use to stab enemies.

Katsura’s smile has vanished. “Kurokono asked about Sensei.”

“Kurokono doesn’t need to know anything about Sensei,” Takasugi spits out. “We’re here to get him back, and that’s all. Nothing else matters.”

“We care about the war effort as well, of course,” Katsura clarifies to you. “I want to build a world that Sensei would love.”

“A lofty goal indeed! Ahahaha, yeah, I’d like to establish a trade route into space as well—”

“None of that _matters_.” Takasugi stares right at Katsura. “Our priority is Sensei. Have you forgotten? Once we get through the main forces, once we rout these bastard Amanto who stand in our way, we’ll _get him back_.”

The Shiroyasha huffs out a breath. His head droops and his expression is hidden by his mop of white hair.

“Maybe. But right now, Sensei isn’t with us, and he wouldn’t have wanted us to—”

The Shiroyasha is suddenly on the floor; his back thuds against the dirt and Takasugi is above him, heaving for breath, his fist primed to punch again.

“Shut the fuck up! Don’t you dare talk about Sensei like he’s— like he’s—”

“Like he’s dead?” The Shiroyasha, still pinned to the ground by Takasugi’s bulk, doesn’t balk from the other’s glare, though you feel the heat of that vicious anger even from all the way on the other side of the campfire where you sit.

“We have no idea,” the Shiroyasha states, emotionless. “He could be dead; it’s a possibility; we have to prepare ourselves for the worst because we don’t know—”

“You fucking bastard!” Takasugi throws a punch downwards; the Shiroyasha blocks it with an open palm and jerks his hips upward to throw the smaller man off balance, then tosses him over his shoulder with a grunt. Takasugi crashes into the bushes. Shiroyasha leaps to his feet.

“You think _I_ want to think about the possibility he’s dead? I don’t! I hate this! But this is _war_. I know war, and the only reason they’d keep Shoyo-sensei alive is if they wanted to fuck with us some more or something, because—”

“Shut your damned mouth! Why are you even _here_ then, you fucking traitor? It’s like you never cared about Sensei at all!”

The Shiroyasha’s expression shutters completely.

Takasugi snarls. Ever a man of action, he charges, and they’re brawling openly now, bruises forming, nothing held back.

You’re stunned. You’ve seen this on the battlefield; never here, never among allies. You send a helpless glance at Katsura but his gaze is dark and he’s biting his lip as he stares into the dirt with wide eyes. You realize that Katsura Kotaro, the brain of the revolutionary army, is momentarily lost, preoccupied with the terror of his own unfettered thoughts. The very imagination that makes him a brilliant tactician lends vivid reality to his nightmares. Desperate, you turn to Sakamoto and he’s not laughing, for once; entirely serious as he looks at his three fellow generals. But when he notices you looking at him, his trademark smile is back and bright as ever. It’s reassuring, as you’re sure he means it to be. You hadn’t meant to start this fight; you’d only been curious.

“Ahahaha! They’re so lively! But this isn’t really helping anyone.” He turns to Takasugi and the Shiroyasha. “Oi! You two! You should probably stop fighting!”

The two don’t seem to hear him, so Sakamoto gets up and walks right beside their fight to shout in their ears, leaping out of the way as it becomes necessary. This ends up becoming a rather funny-looking dance in and out of the path of the two brawlers.

“Hey! Stop fighting! You’re ruining company morale! This is pointless! Let’s all put this aside and go drink the sake I got us last week, ahahaha!”

“Fuck off, Sakamoto,” Takasugi spits out, wiping blood from a split lip. The Shiroyasha is silent. The brawl continues.

Sakamoto sighs. He gives up; walks over to Katsura and places a hand on his shoulder. Katsura startles and looks up wide-eyed into Sakamoto’s smile. Sakamoto pats his shoulder, just once, and some of the tension leaves Katsura’s form as he seems to realize where he is.

“Stop them, Zura?”

Katsura notices the brawl for the first time.

“Right. Yes.” Katsura draws his sword with determination, and you jerk away; what is he going to do— and you gape outright as Katsura strides over and simply attacks both of them.

The sweeps of his sword form a familiar pattern, though— you soon recognize it as an application of one of the katas that he runs through in the morning with new recruits. Takasugi and the Shiroyasha dodge it easily. And it gets their attention. They halt.

“Stop.” Katsura says, simply. The Shiroyasha shrugs and raises his hands in surrender.

Takasugi drops his arm to his side, and you see that movement and remember him slicing one arm downwards in a signal to attack, commanding his troops, the Kiheitai, with that same deliberate efficiency, sending soldiers to victory and to their deaths and carrying all their rage and vengeance and moving like a leaping flame. Takasugi is the army’s blood. Takasugi is the muscles and veins and sinew that rush with fury, that moves everything to the beat of a voice, to the commands of the brain.

You think you might understand him.

You don’t know what possesses you to speak up then, but you do— you, the one who goes unnoticed, step into the light for one brief moment and stand beside the four generals of the revolutionary army.

“I think it’s important to be realistic, sometimes,” you say, and your voice is quiet but audible in the still of the air. “But it’s not wrong to have hope. For a better future, for profit, for glory, for your dreams, for the return of someone you love. We all joined this war for our own reasons, but they don’t have to be the same. I think.”

Takasugi gapes at you. Sakamoto’s smile widens. You’re no great prophet, but you’ve said your piece. So with that, you leave the campfire and melt back into the shadows.

Takasugi finds you the next day and hands you a Yakulk.

“Hey.”

“Yes?”

“Join the Kiheitai for a spell. When you’re not spying for Katsura or Sakamoto.”

It’s phrased as a command, but you’ve spent enough time with him in the command tents by now; you can hear that it’s truly a request. You give him a light smile and pry the foil off the Yakulk container. The yogurt drink is sweet and a bit sour and good.

“I’d love to,” you reply.

He doesn’t return the smile, but with someone like Takasugi, you’re pretty sure that’s alright. 

In the oncoming months, you spend a lot more time with the Commander of the Kiheitai. It’s a marvel to see him fight, explosive like a blaze, and watch him command his force of elite soldiers like they’re an extension of his own will. He, more than anyone, belongs here.

* * *

You have always known that the Shiroyasha is the army’s soul.

And a samurai’s soul is his sword, so the Shiroyasha cuts swathes through the enemy with ease. He fights like a whirlwind, tossing foes aside as he passes and using whatever he can get his hands on as a weapon. You once saw him kill ten men with what you think was a broken chair leg, before he dropped it in favor of running his eleventh foe through with the guy’s own naginata.

Even before you joined the revolution, you knew of the Shiroyasha. After joining, you learned that some of the rumors you thought were nonsense were actually true. When the Shiroyasha tears through the battlefield, the army runs with him. When he cracks a grin, others smile along. When he stands vigil by the grave of a friend, others pay their respects by his side, and the Shiroyasha’s brilliant soul flickers even brighter in response.

Then Sakamoto Tatsuma vanishes. The three remaining generals begin to fray at the edges; they are ropes that have been retied one too many times and now they are bearing a weight that needed at least four people to support it.

Takasugi still calls you to fight by his side. Katsura still asks you to scout ahead and report. And the Shiroyasha needs no one and everyone all at once, and he shows you no particular attention, but you can sense his camaraderie in the way he asks if your leg feels better now after that last skirmish; the way he pulls your pack onto his own shoulder as you’re about to collapse in the mud; the way he swipes a can of Pocari from a passing caravan and offers it to you when you arrive too late to claim anything for yourself. Snacks like that are rare these days.

“Thank you, Shiroyasha-san!”

“Eh. No problem.”

You take a sip from the can. It’s blessedly refreshing after weeks and weeks of drinking only bracken water. He’s silent for a bit.

“You know, I don’t really like that title,” he says eventually.

“But you earned it,” you point out. “As the Shiroyasha, you’re everyone’s hero. Why not be proud of it?”

The Shiroyasha shrugs. “I dunno. Reminds me of worse times when I was a kid, I think.” He picks his nose, ruining the poignant impact of the moment. “Or maybe I’m too lazy to work at being a symbol. It’s easier to just be Sakata Gintoki.”

“Hm.” You recall that no matter how tired Katsura Kotaro is, or who he’s addressing, the man always makes an effort to call the Shiroyasha by his given name. You had thought it was just habit from years of acquaintance, but perhaps it’s also something more.

“So yeah. Just call me Gintoki, alright?” Dull eyes stare into the river as it babbles past them, destination unknown.

You finish the Pocari and pocket the can. “Sure, Gintoki.”

In a blaze of glory, the Shiroyasha became the soul of the revolution. And in a quiet sort of diffusion, Sakata Gintoki became your friend.

* * *

You know when it is time for you to leave. You remember Sakamoto’s words, back then, and it isn’t the stars that call you away, it is home, and everything you’ve left behind.

“Not going to say goodbye?”

Gintoki’s the only one here, leaning against a tree trunk. As expected. You know Takasugi, his eye still oozing pus, hasn’t woken up in days. He’s in no shape at all to move from his cot in their makeshift infirmary. And Katsura stayed up all night, biting his fingernails to the quick, trying to think of something, anything, to salvage the rest of their fast-dwindling forces. Because whatever the three of them faced on that hilltop, it was enough to destroy them entirely. The army itself lies speechless and exhausted, bleeding out on a field of white, with its soul nearly burnt to dull gray ashes.

“I said my farewells to Takasugi, though I’m not sure he heard me. And I didn’t want to wake Katsura, but I was the one who moved him from his desk to his pallet.”

Gintoki’s lips quirk upwards. “Thanks for that. Zura’s an idiot, sometimes.”

There’s a bit of silence filled in by the rustling of the verdant leaves around them, and you’re suddenly sure that Gintoki also wants to get out; to leave the revolution behind like you’re about to right now. You nearly gasp at the realization.

Your words are hypocritical beyond belief, but you have to say them.

“You’re the soul of this army. You can’t...”

Gintoki quirks an eyebrow. “I’m the soul? Really? Have you got assignments for all of us, then?”

You nod.

“Huh. What’re the others?”

You tell him.

“Okay, yeah. Not exactly what I’d come up with, but you’ve really got a point there. I guess it kinda makes sense.” His face slowly breaks into a grin. “Wait, no, forget all that. Who’s the army’s dick? That’s what I wanna know. He’d better be keeping our reputation up, whoever he is.”

That breaks you from your worry, and you laugh along with him, shifting your pack of belongings up higher on your shoulder. His laugh softens into the first smile you’ve seen from him since he descended from that cliff with Katsura at his side, Takasugi supported between them. Everyone had thought Katsura and Takasugi dead when the enemy captured them, but Gintoki brought them both back alive. The rest of the army considered it a miracle worth celebrating. Yet, for some reason, the three of them shut down all congratulations, and have barely even talked to each other since.

You have your guesses as to what happened. If it were Sakamoto here, he would have asked them, and they would have told him. He might even have been able to patch them up again. But it is only you, and you’re helpless; transient in the grand scheme of things.

Gintoki’s words bring you out of your thoughts.

“Well, what are you, then, in this army?”

Ah. That’s easy.

“I was the army’s shadow,” you say as the wind whistles around you, tossing leaves into the beams of light that sparkle through the sparse foliage. “No one notices me, and no one ever really will. But if you look for me, then there I am behind you. I’m always at your side, ready to help.”

Gintoki’s smile turns wistful. He turns his gaze from you to look up at the trees and the bright blue sky beyond.

“Hah. As long as there’s a shadow behind us, we know we're heading towards the light. But once the shadow disappears…”

It’s time to give up and let go.

But, no, Gintoki doesn’t finish the thought, just levers himself off of the bark he’s leaning against and turns away. He waves as he walks, the back of his hand visible beside the dull, stained white of his overrobe and his headband, both fluttering in the wind.

“See you around.”

“See you around, Gintoki.”

You turn and stride off into the forest, a whole new life ahead of you. You don’t know whether your family is safe, or if they’re even still alive. But they’re far south in a remote area relatively free of war, so you can hope. Like you once told the other four generals: Even as you prepare yourself for the worst, it’s alright to hope. Probably.

You leave the rebellion in its dusk.

With peace will come occupation, and the normalcy of a colonized world. You don’t know exactly what the future has in store, but you'll watch it from the shadows. You don't plan on getting involved in the revolution effort again. You think you'll try to live a peaceful life, and it amuses you that you'll likely have a lot of free time, now that you’re no longer a soldier. You'll be able to take up a hobby, or an art form, or even one of those new Amanto sports being adopted into the local culture and played in villages across the country.

Perhaps you’ll try basketball.

**Author's Note:**

> Irrelevant Disclaimer: I never actually finished reading Kuroko no Basuke (though I've been told it's pretty good) because sports manga aren't really my thing. Then again, Slam Dunk has always been an amazing piece of work, and I recently discovered and loved Haikyuu, so maybe I just need to try more sports stuff? Who knows.


End file.
